


World so Cold

by the_lie_eternal



Series: Marko and his Mental Illness [3]
Category: Poets of the Fall
Genre: AU, Backstory, the broke artist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-04 19:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11561559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_lie_eternal/pseuds/the_lie_eternal
Summary: Combining that with the obvious wounds in my face the reasons were clear as river water.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A little backstory of how Jani burned himself in Marko's mind - Marko is around 17 here.

Heavy and wet raindrops splashed into my face. Not that I mind it, though. My freedom was the only thing I cared about, no ten horses could bring me back home. The street was empty. Todays' people were made of sugar, weak and disgusting. Less faces to look at tho, an advantage.

The grab around the wallet I stole a few minutes ago tightened. I haven't looked inside, no idea if there even was something useable in it, for me. The woman didn't even notice how I skillfully I freed her from the weight money had in our days. Too distracted by the storm.

As I stepped over the wet sidewalk I spotted a man, trying to carry all his – seemingly – paintings out of the rain into a dry gap between the houses. A usual sight in the streets, people trying to sell their handcrafts, art, music and whatever they could find in their old and rusty houses. No destination I should go in mind, I decided to help the man saving his "art". Fast steps through the rain and I already found myself taking weird looking paintings and drawings out of the stormy weather.

Few pictures and minutes later I finally had the chance to look at the man who stood next to me, breathing heavily and exhausted. A middle-aged man, messy hair cut to a weird mohawk, a stubbly beard decorating his face and a – not crazy but still questionable – look in his ice-cold blue eyes.

'How should I ever repay you this favor, young man!' he gasped and shook my hand heavily 'You saved my art, my existence! Tell me what you want and I will do what stands in my power!' he began to stutter 'B- But where are my manners! Snellman, Jani Snellman, that's my name.' he nodded and finally let go of my hand.

Everything, he said … I looked around me silently. Judging by his paintings he had as much money as I did – nothing. The colors he used were old and dirty, his pens broken in half, showing countless hours of usage. The pictures … I didn't understand most of the so said "art", although I loved to do sketches by myself of the happenings in my head, still I could feel his poor mental health and sadness through what he created there. It wasn't much more than a random mixture of colors on a paper sheet, nevertheless his message was clearly readable.

'I am Marko, nice to meet you, Jani.' I gave him a slight smile. More I didn't dare to say, however, who knew why.

'Seems like the shop is sooner closed as expected. Would you help me a last time carrying all these into my car?' he looked at me questioning and I couldn't do else than nodding. After all I had nothing to do anyway.

You couldn't call it a car, more some rust glued together with duct tape and four wheels … to my surprise the engine was sounding quite alright.

Everything stored in the car, Jani thanked me a third time for my help and mentioned his first question again. 'I will ask again, is there something you want?'

Thinking about it and that he was an actual artist, I needed new pens for my sketches, new notebooks, more innocent looking boxes where I could hide them from my father, a new …

'Can you give me a ride?' I asked out of nowhere.

'If that's all, of course!' he clapped happily and symbolized me to take place on the passenger seat. 'So, where can I take you?'

At this point, there wasn't more to hide from the stranger so I openly confessed 'I ran away from home, again. I need shelter, do you know a place I can stay overnight?'

The man mumbled something for a few seconds and then answered, thoughtfully 'If you don't mind a weirdo like me … I would invite you into my flat. It's just not the most beautiful, I am a broke as fuck artist and my home doesn't look different.'

The truth was that I didn't even care about how his home looked like or where he lived. A night under a roof was a thousand times better than sleeping in a pile of water under a park bench – and I knew what I was talking about.

'If you can do that for me, that would be all I wish for.' I sighed with a smile, receiving a friendly shoulder pat from him.

'As you wish, Marko. May I ask why you escaped from your home?' he mentioned as he started the engine and brought the car to move.

'Father.' I coughed, he replied with a nod. Combining that with the obvious wounds in my face the reasons were clear as river water. Jani concentrated on the streets while I checked the wallet I totally forgot about during the encounter with the stranger.

As expected I only found roughly five bucks and a few coins, useless credit cards and pictures of ugly children. I shove the money into my pocket and threw the wallet out of the car window – already forgotten.

Jani didn't judge, he probably knew first-hand what people tend to do when they don't even have money for food.

 

We passed the good-looking houses and slowly reached the poorer part of the town, where we stopped in front of a half-damaged house, built of bricks and wood mainly. As said, better than no house at all.


	2. Chapter 2

'I forgot to tell you, I don't live alone. There's still my roommate but he is rarely home so he's not really worth a mention.' Jani mumbled nervously as he opened the old, creaking front door. Who would said roommate be? Also an artist? How would he look like?

All these and further questions answered themselves as I stepped into Jani's home, walking right after him. Average furniture, not the best but it was useable. Unlike the facade, the inside of the house looked clean and well cared about. For a moment, I forgot about the fact Jani was broke and earned his money through selling pictures on the streets. I even spotted some of them on the walls.

'Jani, you old dirtbag, finally you bring someone home too!' I heard the voice of a man out of the seemingly living room.

'For fucks sake, Richard! Shut the fuck up! He's only a guest.' Jani shouted back. Seconds of silence, then a man appeared in the living room door – we were still standing in the corridor.

Not as tall as his voice would tell, slightly longer blonde hair, a cigarette hanging at the corner of his mouth. Added to that he only wore knee-length shorts – nothing more. He wasn't ugly, though. He was poor but definitely rich of looks.

'You never told me you are into kids.' he stated and eyed me with a grin.

'Ri-' Jani wanted to complain again but I interrupted him.

'I am no child.' I hissed and took a step forward. It was true, I looked much older than I was, the wounds destroyed me.

'Cool, kid, everything's cool.' defeated he put his hands in the air and turned around. 'Living room's mine until I go to work, you guys can relax in the kitchen. See you, ladies.' he hummed as he returned to where he came from.

'Idiot.' Jani hissed and lead me to the said kitchen. Bigger than expected, I was kind of startled. He told me he was poor but his whole house looked a thousand times better than the shithole me and my father lived in. 'He will leave soon and re-appear tomorrow around 1 or 2 pm, so you can sleep on the couch – if you are okay with that, I hope …' the artist mumbled as we sat down on opposite sides of the kitchen desk.

'Of course, a couch is more than enough! Now it is my time to thank you, huh?' I smiled and the man on my opposite gave a short laugh 'I think we are equal now.'

'Can I ask where Richard works? Not to sound rude but with your low income alone, paying this place is impossible … ' I mentioned and Jani nodded.

'It's true, I am more his roommate than he is mine. He pays all this and I live in his luxury life as a … how do I call it … hooker. But I don't judge, he keeps me alive and I can dedicate my life to my art and drawings. How about you?' Jani explained and I just gave a hum as answer. Understandable, his and Richard's situation. I didn't judge either, even though father had an average job we still lived in poverty. He was sick – I was sick – who would care about us?

'Still in school but it isn't easy. The voice in my head speaks too much, I can't concentrate.' I stated and added 'Don't do much in my free time except sketching and drawing, not as fancy as you though. Just bringing my thoughts on paper.'

He was immediately fascinated by me mentioning the sketches so he asked without shame 'Oh, I would love to see those, to see your style!' His over-the-top reaction from where I saved his art came up again so I calmed him quickly.

'Do you have pen and paper?'

 

And like this a several hour-long conversation about art and drawings began burning between us. I displayed him my style and thoughts about the general "drawing stuff", Jani explained me his long and painful way as an artist and – the most important thing – his own thoughts about his drawings.

And who would've expected it, his mind was much darker than it seemed from just looking at him.

Added to the talk, he also taught me how to improve myself, the drawing technics and how my sketches would turn into real pieces of art belonging into a museum. The last I may wouldn't use as much as he wanted but that was okay. In the end, I was sad about us going our own paths again. I promised him to search and visit his street shop from time to time – which I gladly did – and he promised to always have new sketchbooks for me hidden in his bags.

That was when the drawings began to appear. Not these childish sketches.

The drawings, madman's drawings, the reason Versailles, the hospital, became my home ten years later.

Jani never got to know what happened to me after I disappeared without a word. Deep inside I hoped the old man found his inner peace and worried about every-day problems and his roommate Richard, rather than the young psychopath he once knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note, I added the weird roommate 'Richard' as a person Marko would remember as Olli later (Time of Dying). The bandmembers are all in their canon ages in the main fanfic, the "original" Olli (Mistakes Make People) is 19 years old however - so I added Richard as reference person for Marko's head how to imagine Olli in his 40s.


End file.
